“In the monotony of everyday existence grief comes as a holiday, and a fire is an entertainment. A scratch embellishes an empty face.” – Maxim Gorky
Everything is still the same, but sometimes I want to scream. I have a dragon who sleeps in me and uses my heart as a pillow. I cannot get rid of him, his existence is merged with mine. It is part of me, as my bones or veins. My dragon is vicious and during the past fifteen years he managed to create the middle ring of the seventh circle of Dante’s Inferno in my heart. There is a tree that grows in the black hole of my heart fed upon by harpies. I am suicide. By allowing the dragon’s autonomy, I allowed him to make me a prisoner of my inner world. My dragon is worldwide known as high- functioning chronic depression, but in Bosnia he can only be considered as my imaginary friend.
I am trapped. My time is leaking away while I am trying to collect it with my hands. A promise I gave to myself, together with my projections of short term plans which never ended in realization, are producing a feeling of guilt every time when accomplishment fails. The idea behind this thoughtful construction is to build the fake happiness which should fill the black hole and justify a reason for living, but somehow it did not prove to be a successful method of dealing with a problem. It is failure by default. I fight a losing battle. One can only be happy when in peace with oneself.
My time vanishes permanently, leaving me in the same place, equally as confused as before, one year older and more disappointed in everything I ever believed. It leaves me being lost within me, my life, the world as we know it, and within my endless imagination. And nevertheless, it leaves me alone in my idealistic projections of everything that matters.
Those people who are not familiar with depression in all her manners often are very critical and they preach motivational stories of power of will and so on, but what should we do with the lack of will? How to treat an absence of something? How to talk about the meaning of life when we do not find any? Are we capable of recognizing happiness if we are not feeling it? How we shall believe in it’s existence then? How to survive when you are not motivated to live?
If you see me on the street I will always smile at you. My appearance will intrigue you, my energy will infect you, you will probably enjoy being around me, talking to me, dancing with me. You will feel the need to be my friend to know me, to share with me, to sleep with me. But, trust me, you will never want to be in my skin. The dragon is sleeping there and his only aim is to destroy me. But during my self destruction process, if you care for me, his fire will burn you. Living with depression, and despite of it, is only for brave.
This beast needs to be killed or it will kill you. But, before you start to defend yourself, you have to name your enemy.
For those who never had a chance to meet me, I have to clarify as the author of this steam of consciousness, as a women who fights a lot of battles alone against the world,the only battle she needs to fight is against herself, and she cannot do it alone.
I needed, as I still do, all my friends, family and lovers. I thank them for believing in me in all those moments when I didn’t believe in anything. They inspire me to live a life of endless wandering. A life for the brave.